Poetry Porch: Poetry


It Is Enough
by Ruth Daigon 

It is enough to lean against 
the fabric of your flesh. 
It is enough to lie in the domestic morning. 
It is enough to watch light 
expanding through windows, 
rising and falling between our bodies 
on this bed, in this room, over this continent. 

We grow wise watching leaky faucets, 
faded wallpaper, mismatched socks. 
The coffee boiling on the stove 
prepares us for the network news, 
shopping malls, miracle cures, 
and tomorrow always sitting on our bed. 

But in this rush of years, 
we have not lost the imagined past, 
the here-it-is, the pitch, 
the pinnacle of time shining 
from within a million summers 
infused with music. 

We invent a lifetime out of small things, 
free the air between our fingers, 
diagram the stars, dream them 
into daylight, and admit the future: 
it is here, always here, 
and the clock runs forever. 

Copyright © 2002 by Ruth Daigon. This poem appeared in the collection Handfuls of Time, Small Poetry Press, Select Poet Series.